


The Weekend

by Belle_Evans



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in Los Angeles. Kurt has an unexpected 'run in'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ, so kept original a/n. It seems these two were made for futurefic. This just came to me this morning while I was half asleep, and I'm trying to get it out before I forget it. It's a WIP. I anticipate it will be short so I hope to get the parts up pretty quick, unless I forget it all ;-). There will probably be four parts. First fic in this fandom. I don't even know how I got here. Seriously. Feedback, of course welcome.

**Thursday**

Kurt stares at the numbers. He can make the expansion work. He just has to crunch the numbers a little harder. It's imperative he make room for a runway. The window of opportunity to make an offer on one of the storefronts adjacent his is tight. Montana, his custom home furnishings retail neighbor, is downsizing her Silverlake shop in favor of concentrating on her Westside clientele and store in Santa Monica. Kurt has been fortunate in that his art is wearable, portable and in no way dependent on whether or not his clients have a fabulous address. It's also highly photographable which has allowed his brand to grow quickly. A _**US Weekly 'Stars – They're Just Like Us'**_ photo of one of his scarves wrapped around the latest, hottest, male Disney ingenue might have caused some headaches for the kid's publicist, but it was a boon for Kurt Hummel. He's run with it.

It's generally quiet in the morning which is why he left his assistant, Marcus, alone in the front. When he opens his office door, he hears Marcus' laugh. The laugh he uses to seduce people into spending money. The way Kurt's office is situated in the back of the store allows him step outside and watch the sales floor without being seen. On the weekends, when the boutique is busiest, he enjoys standing out of sight, observing clients wrapped in his creations, preens. Watching the steady flow of people who want what he has to offer enough to open their wallets fills him with a tremendous sense of accomplishment. If Marcus is using the laugh then he's established a good rapport. Kurt will wait until the sale is closed then make a grand entrance so they can experience the thrill of being rung up by the actual designer. He can see Marcus' face clearly, but both of the customers have their backs to him. One of the things Kurt appreciates the most about no longer being in Lima is the freedom. He takes a moment to indulge in one of those freedoms right now. The freedom to look his fill.

The outfit on the taller of the two customers makes a nice silhouette, accentuates what it should, the broad shoulders, the blatant gun show, the trim waist and firm ass. Kurt lets his eyes linger just a moment on the way the drape of the dark pants really compliment that ass. Alas, it's still very cotton, very Gap Men. The complete opposite of Kurt's designs which are full of color and sparkle. Asymetrical lines in sensual fabrics. Kurt's eyes shift to the second man who appears to be laughing at something Marcus said. The exact frame his collection was designed to fit. As he absently catalogs the man's sizes, he realizes they share nearly the same long, slim hipped lines. Kurt has been fortunate to have retained his boyish figure. It's only been five years since McKinley, but on this street alone, temptation abounds everyday. The cupcake shop next door starts baking at six in the morning. The smell wafts over to Kurt's shop. He spends the first few hours of each day resisting that temptation.

Though the customer's hair looks curlier, it appears they also share the same rich auburn color.

The Gap guy takes one of the scarves Marcus has in his hand. He turns enough for Kurt to see his features in profile. A bright unfettered smile breaks across the guy's face, as he looks at his companion. Kurt startles so badly he almost loses his balance. Pressing his hand against the wall, he steadies himself.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Kurt counts to ten. At ten, his eyes flash open. Instead of getting better it gets surreal. Kurt thinks maybe he's actually fallen and hit his head. Because if that's not what's happened, then Dave Karofsky is standing in the middle of Kurt's place of business, wrapping one of Kurt's signature puce silk scarves around the neck of his friend, using its edges to draw the slight man to him. To _**kiss**_ him. In public, in front of the picture window that overlooks the well trafficked street. In Los Angeles, where Kurt moved five years ago. He certainly didn't tell Dave Karofsky. No one he knows would have. But still, of all the boutiques, in all the…. Absently, Kurt drags his fingers across his bottom lip. Dave Karofsky. The man who took his first kiss, locking lips with a facsimile. The two men are striking together. Slowly, Kurt backs up until he hits his office door. He feels hot and cold all over.

An hour later, Kurt is still staring at his cell. His first instinct was to call Blaine. That was the logical thing to do. He'd dialed the number, but they were currently in one of their not together, together phases. It didn't mean they saw other people. It seemed to mean mostly that they didn't see each other. He's crazy busy trying to make his remodel-expansion plan come to fruition, and Blaine is busy auditioning for pilots. He knows that Blaine would be there for him, for this. But he's not sure that's what he wants. He spends the next hour Google stalking Karofsky.


	2. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt confronts Karofsky. He had no idea it would go like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to LJ. Kept original author note. 
> 
> I think is the first time I've tried to write for a fandom while it's still making canon. That's interesting. I love that fic keeps popping up from this community. I also hate it because I can't read in a fandom when I'm trying to finish a fic in it. I know how this ends, I'm just trying to steal some moments from my real life to get it done. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Hopefully, I can get the other parts out a little more quickly. There are at least two more.
> 
> Manipulated the events in Never Been Kissed for my own purposes. Kurt didn't tell Blaine.

The Weekend

 

Friday

 

Having barely slept. Kurt woke up angry. Angry, puffy, unmoisturized and with greasy hair. The hour of Google stalking Karofsky turned into a couple of hours on the McKinley High website trolling the Alumni section. There was a section dedicated to the Athletic Department, but he couldn't really find anything helpful. He hadn't really been sure what that would have been.

 

Before he'd left the boutique for the night, Kurt had found the receipt for the scarf. Apparently, Karofsky, the receipt had his name on it, had also bought his 'friend', a couple of shirts to go with the scarf. One in fiberglass, the other in pomegranate. The sale totaled three hundred dollars. A quick call using all his charm, his merchant identification number and a story about wanting to provide that extra bit of customer service, garnered Kurt Karofsky's billing address. Even as he typed the information in his phone, Kurt had no idea what he was going to do with it. Or even why he thought it was necessary to have it. By the time he'd gotten home, there was a text from Blaine,

Rehearsal running long. Blainespeak for 'you're on your own tonight'. It had crossed Kurt's mind again that he should probably talk to Blaine, but he was grateful now that he wouldn't have to. He considered calling Mercedes, but her touring company was in Atlanta, and he almost always got her voicemail lately. Though he'd do his best to keep it to himself, Finn would probably just spill to their parents when he made his weekly phone call from Manhattan.

Instead Kurt had lit lavender candles throughout his apartment, changed into the hunter green silk pajamas he saved for his Kurt time and made camp in the center of his queen size bed. Two years ago he and Blaine had decided that it would be better for their relationship if they lived separately. Decided might have been a tab mild. Kurt had been trying to work out what his signature fabrics would be. There had been bolts of material all over their living room. In a specific order and color groupings to aid Kurt's conceptulization of the line he envisioned. He needed to be immersed. He'd explained that to Blaine, when his boyfriend wanted to move some of the bolts. He'd explained it more than once, patiently. The second week that their living room looked like “bolts are us”, Kurt came back from running errands to find that not only had some of the bolts been shifted, but so too had the mannequin he'd draped, and the pattern he'd hand made.

Blaine countered that he and his scene partner from acting class had needed the room to work out some blocking. That hadn't been their first fight, but it was one of the worst. Lots of slammed doors, epic cold shoulders and several nights on the couch later, they decided mutually that together didn't necessarily mean sharing the same living space.

So much of his senior year was spent listening to Rachel Berry, now Rachel Berry-Hudson, lay out in in a verbal Power Point presentation, how she was going to take Manhattan, that Kurt had decided as much as he'd grown to like her, and what choice did he have really, her becoming part of his extended family was inevitable. Kurt didn't want to be where anyone from McKinley had been before. He wanted his own city to conquer. To everyone's surprise, except Blaine who he'd spent a great deal of time talking to about it, he'd announced he was moving to Los Angeles at his and Finn's graduation dinner.

He'd already enrolled in FIDM's Fashion Knitwear Program. With the help of the internet, he and Blaine had found an apartment on the east side of downtown Los Angeles, near Chinatown. Their first place. Three years living together, two years separately. Two years that afforded him the opportunity to get to know himself in a way he hadn't before. In the quiet, without Blaine's physical and emotional energy he allowed himself to consider life without his high school sweetheart. Once they got together, he'd thought he had the boyfriend now who would become the husband. Happily ever after. But even he knew, in a place he didn't visit very often, that might not necessarily be the case. His father hadn't gotten the happy ever after with his mother. His father and Carol had made a good life together, but neither was the others first choice. Neither was who the other first thought they'd grow old with.

Without Blaine, Kurt's mind drifted to things the boyfriend proximity crowded out. Thoughts that occupied the same place as unhappy endings. Thoughts that made him feel like he was cheating. For a long time he'd tried to pretend that what happened with Karofsky hadn't happened. Life at Dalton made that infinitely easier. But when Blaine's mouth finally pressed against his for their long anticipated first kiss, he couldn't help, but flash on Karofsky in the locker room.

The easy press of Blaine's soft mouth undercut by an echo of a hard, desperate need. He hadn't wanted to ruin the moment he'd been looking forward to for what seemed like his whole life with any acknowledgement of the taint. But it had woven its way into their relationship.

Their first New Year's Eve in Los Angeles, Kurt broke down and told Blaine. His intention had been never to tell. Not even to a perfect stranger with the names changed. As the clock struck midnight, Blaine dipped him, planted one on him. When Kurt was upright again, his gaze swept the room full of exuberant, partying same sex couples celebrating the coming year openly. Without his permission, Karofsky's face popped into his head. He wondered if the other man would ever make it to a room like this. Be okay in a room like this. He didn't think Karofsky would, not in Lima. Probably not ever. An unexpected wave of sadness nudged Kurt out of the celebration and into a sudden melancholy. Tears threatened to stream down his face.

“Kurt.”

Kurt just shook his head. It was too loud in the room for him to even make an attempt at articulation. Blaine had simply taken his hand and led him out of the ballroom. In a quiet corner of the lobby he'd finally told his boyfriend about his actual first kiss.

“You should have told me.”

“I'm telling you now.”

Because Kurt hadn't planned on ever telling, he hadn't given any real consideration to what Blaine's reaction would be. He hadn't considered how it might make Blaine feel not to have been the first. It also hit him for the first time that he was Karofsky's first kiss. That given who Karofsky was Kurt might be his only kiss. The thought hadn't done anything to help the mood.

“Maybe we should go home,” Blaine said quietly. They didn't make love to bring in the New Year as they had other years. Blaine just held him and didn't say much. For a few weeks after it seemed like they spent more time making out than they had in the previous three years. But Kurt still felt the echo.

 

ØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØ

 

With the Karofsky's address programmed into his GPS, under a full head of steam Kurt drove the twenty-minutes or so Beachwood Canyon. Typical, Kurt thought as he looked for the right apartment number, that Karofsky would show up in LA ,and live right under the Hollywood sign.

 

“You had no idea that this is where I lived? You really expect me to believe that. That of the forty-nine other states in the Union, this is where you're living. You live twenty minutes from me. Twenty-minutes Karofsky.”

 

Karofsky's eyes darted to everything in the tastefully furnished living room, clearly, not Karofsky's influence. He'd used Karofsky's obvious surprise at seeing him on his doorstep to barge past the larger man and into the room where he know stood. With Karofsky refusing to look at him. It struck Kurt that this was the first time since that day in the locker room he'd been alone with Karofsky. Then help was just a few feet away. Now, no one knew where he was. He hadn't returned any of Blaine's texts. That deflated his head of steam just a bit. He took a step back from the other man, causing Karofsky to look up. To turn hazel eyes on him for the first time without looking at the eggshell wall or the asymetrical mahogany coffee table. He waited for the fear he'd felt at McKinley to wash over him.

 

“How was I supposed to know that?” Kurt found the McKinley fear as absent as the the menace in Karofsky's voice. He sounded bewildered, with a slice of defensive, but there was no threat.

“Jaime just said he'd heard about some store that sold cool clothes that would look good on him and not like they came from Target's boy's department. The store has a girl's name. There's a girl's name on the label. I know you think I'm stupid, but not even Einstein would have figured that out Hummel.”

“The guy you were with -. ”

“Look I'm sorry I came into your place. It won't happen again.”

There was a obvious plea in Karofsky's eyes, before they dropped to the rich wine colored carpet.  
It might have been cruel, but Kurt hadn't had any sleep. He wanted Karofsky to actually say the words. After all that happened in school, after the indelible mark the other man had made. Kurt wanted Karofsky to acknowledge that it was men that did it for him. Men like Kurt.

“I said it was a mistake, that I wouldn't go there anymore. Why can't you...You should go Kurt. I really just need you to go.”

“You live twenty-minutes away from me and your boyfriend looks like me. After what happened before, how am I just supposed to ignore that. I can get a restraining order. I will. ”

“I had no idea it was your store.”

“I thought...I thought it was because I was convenient. The known gay. Easy target. You were confused. But, you have a type.”

“I don't have a type,” Karofsky's voice is insistent, but still without menace. More like a kind of desperation. It dies out a little at the end. Kurt doesn't care.

“Ugh, really? Still, Karofsky? You're living with a guy. You buy clothes for him. The way you touched him. You live in Los Angeles, and still you're clutching the closet door. You have a type.”

“Please,” Karofsky whispers. His hands clench and unclench as his shoulders hunch forward. Then he's moving. It takes him one long stride to put himself Converse to boots with Kurt. He hesitates for just a fraction of an instant. Kurt holds his ground. It's so like the look that day in the locker room, except he doesn't feel the fear he felt at McKinley. And that has to do with more than the pepper spray in his bag.

It has some to do with the way intense hazel eyes travel from his eyebrows to his chin and back causing a hard flutter in Kurt's stomach. He's been cruised enough at this point in his life to know what it means when a man looks at him like this. It has some to do with Karofsky's warm, calloused fingers suddenly stroking gently across his forehead.

It has a lot to do with the echoes from that day in the locker room. He needs to put this to rest in his own mind. To come to terms with the part of himself that even after letting the fear go, can't seem to let go of the kiss. Karofsky's fingers stutter down Kurt's cheek.

“Fancy,” so low that even as close as they are, it's barely audible. But audible enough. Then Karofsky's mouth is on his. They are back in the McKinley locker room. With it happening again, now that he has come completely into his own, Kurt can fully feel what's been shadowing Blaine's kisses. It feels like being swept up in a tidal wave. A solid arm, all muscle tightens around Kurt's waist. He's drawn off the carpet, his body pulled tight against the other man. Kurt gives himself up to it. He'll never know otherwise. Lost in the sensation of their tongues together, a fleeting impression of which he got the first time around, it almost doesn't register that there's a shift, movement. Kurt has the sensation of floating backwards, but he's still so firmly held there's nothing to be done but hold on a little tighter. His fingers tangle in curly, dark hair.

Kurt keeps expecting to feel Karofsky's bulk. Feel it crush him against the decidely scratchy not Egyptian cotton sheets, making marks against his skin. But everything is light. The pressure on his wrists, the weight of the other man against his thighs, his groin. Fingers made clumsy by trembling, fumble with the buttons on Kurt's shirt. Brain on the verge of going completely offline, Kurt arches into the sensation of rough skinned finger tips over the smooth pampered skin of his chest, his stomach. Their mouths tear away from each other long enough to gasp in air. Karofsky's dips his head as he pants against Kurt's shoulder. His had never stops the caress of Kurt's skin in sensuous circles. Lower and lower until they slide against Kurt's arousal.

“Kar-,” the moan is cut off by Karofsky's mouth on his again. Sliding one of his wrists free, Kurt mirrors Karofsky. His fingers trail Karofsky's length beneath the soft wear of his jeans. And then it's a short frenzy of unzipping, unbuttoning, angling. A moment's desperation to get the right friction, the right rhythm. Then it's over. A hot, wet whisper of words against the flushed skin of Kurt's neck. Words, so bare a whisper that there's no way for Kurt to make them out. But the way the mouth lingers against his skin, before the body above his moves just enough to lie beside him, that moment says almost more to Kurt than anything that proceeded it. Too much.

He should leave, but the lack of sleep has caught up with him. Coupled with the satiation, his eyes can't help but droop. From one breath to the next he's out like a light.

 

ØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØ

 

Kurt wakes with a start to the sound of breathing other than his own as an unfamiliar ceiling blinks into focus. There's a hand both heavy and light on his stomach. Beneath the hand his stomach does a hard flutter. The room still smells like the both of them together. Kurt wants to feel disgusted, violated. But those emotions won't come. His participation was fully consensual this time. Wiggling himself from beneath the hand, Kurt edges himself to the side of the bed. It's a little awkward. His pants are still mid-thigh. His bound legs swing over the side of the bed where he hunches. They've taken a gigantic leap from who they were to each other at McKinley.

A digital picture frame on the nightstand slides from a grinning Karofsky alone to a photo of Karofsky and his boyfriend taken at what looks like a Pride festival. Karofsky is in purple Elton John sunglasses with a green boa around his neck, his arm slung over his boyfriend's shoulder. They look happy. Kurt shivers. Suddenly, calloused fingers stroke across the small of his exposed back. Kurt can't help, but read it for what it is. Comfort. Either for himself or Karofsky or both.

Hysteria is a hair's breadth from overwhelming him. Feels it about to overtake him the way the fear use to at school sometimes. The other person in the room still at the root. The trembling starts on the heel of that thought. The touch on his spine gets a little firmer.

“Fancy.” Only reverence. Concern. Other things.  
The slide of the photograph snags Kurt's attention again. A solo of Kurt's 'twin' looks out at the camera like a man in love. With Karofsky.

“This shouldn't have happened.”

The words are barely able to push past Kurt's kiss swollen mouth. The echo is gone, translated into something more immediate. Something that is too much to think about in someone else's bedroom, Getting off the bed, he ignores the flaking evidence of what they've done. The pants that didn't quite make it all the way off, slide all the way back on. The touch on his lower back disappears.

 

ØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØØ

 

The previous owner of Kurt's retail space had a thing about public restrooms. Kurt has never been more grateful for the fully appointed, private bathroom in his office as with an apologetic smile, he hurries past Marcus. He's added his own touches of course, brought in his own hair products, lotions and the vanilla mango soap he buys at the Farmer's Market. The physical evidence scrubs away easily, disappears down the drain like nothing happened. Eyes squeezed closed, Kurt turns his face into the spray.


	3. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and David spend some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original a/n from LJ - I so wanted to get this whole fic done before the new season started, and then during the baseball hiatus and before Dave came back. Alas, that did not happen, but Thanksgiving break is the charm. I haven't seen and am unspoiled for any episodes after 'Pot o' Gold'. It's not really relevant to this part, but the fic was started before the clarification as to who was a soph, junior etc. Though I have covered myself with this as an AU.

Saturday

 

Kurt Hummel is his father's son. He has inherited his father's work ethic. It doesn't matter that their businesses are diametrically opposed. He knows that as a small business owner you have to keep a firm grasp on all aspects of your business. You do not show up two hours after the doors are supposed to open. Even if there is a trusted employee to unlock the doors on time. You do not take two days to finish preliminary remodel plans, especially when that delay means rescheduling the appointment with the contractor. An appointment that's been on his calendar for three months. It sets a bad precedent. A bad example. As Burt Hummel's son this kind of behavior is not even in his dna. Except.

Saturday morning finds him bright eyed, focused and properly moisturized. Kurt sets his mind on getting to the boutique before Marcus and finishing the sketches for the remodel by the end of the day, excelling at the things that made his father both happy and proud to co-sign his small business loan. His mind somersaults over the reason, he hasn't been his best self the last couple of days.

It jétés over the fact, that while two scrubbings with a vanilla mango bodywash got rid of the smell of another man on his skin and vigorous brushing and rinsing got rid of the taste on his tongue, nothing can really be done to unsee the way Karofsky looked at him. Nothing can be done to unknow Karofsky's gentleness or the depth of his desire.

With a smile of apology, he'd joined Marcus on the sale's floor. Not that Marcus was particularly upset with Kurt. He worked the floor of the boutique like it was his very own pickup spot. While never inappropriate with the customers or never more inappropriate than an individual customer would allow, the customers, gay, straight and everything in between all seemed to fall for him in some way. A feature in the LA Weekly People issue a few weeks prior, coupled with the beginnings of summer kept a steady stream of people coming through the boutique's doors.

 

Having spent most of Friday on the floor, Kurt was beyond exhausted when he'd closed up for the day. Before turning in for the night, he'd checked his phone. There were no messages from Blaine. And he hadn't found a minute in the day to call him.

Smoothing just a little more product through his hair, Kurt checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The scarf at his neck, a preview sample of the variations in lime he hopes to introduce in the fall. He's gathered his bag and keys when there is an insistent knock on his door. Kurt rolls his eyes. The UPS and Fedex guys are always so impatient. But his regular delivery guys look delectable in their shorts so Kurt always lets it go.

 

He doesn't bother to look through his peephole, bad habit because of the aforementioned UPS and Fedex men in short pants, so his brain stutters at reconciling what's actually on his doorstep. Blinking doesn't clear the image.

In the doorway, Karofsky smiles at him shyly. All Kurt can do is stare at the green stalks of birds of paradise in Karofsky's hand. Clutched in the hands of someone smaller, they would look utterly ridiculous. In Karofsky's hands they look only slightly ridiculous. Kurt tries again. He squeezes his eyes shut.

It doesn't help. Karofsky thrust his handful at Kurt.

"I got these for you."

On reflex, Kurt sticks his hand out to accept them. The received handful is unwieldy, thicker than the stems of flowers would be, slightly heavier than Kurt would have guessed. They haven't opened yet. As he bobbles the four stalks, trying to get a decent grip, Karofsky reaches out to steady his wrist. Though he hadn't left any marks on Kurt the day before, his fingers slot in exactly the same place. Like they belong there.

"I should put these in a vase. If I even have a vase this size."

It's not meant as an invitation, but when he turns away from the door, Karofsky steps in behind him. As the front door snicks closed, unexpected anticipation spikes in Kurt's stomach.

"These are quite...it's certainly not your typical bouquet is it? I mean birds of paradise. They're really -"

"They seemed different, but in a cool way, like you. The way you've always been." Karofsky says softly. So soft, a caress. Kurt falters. Karofsky breathes behind him. Not exactly on his heels, but close. Too close.

"I have a pasta canister that might be tall enough I think." Kurt tosses over his shoulder as he darts into the safety of the kitchen.

Blaine did most of the cooking when they lived together. Pasta dishes were his specialty. On Blaine's birthday three years ago, Kurt gave him a set of ocean blue ceramic canisters from Sur La Table. Rummaging through the cabinets, Kurt finds the tallest of the set. It's sturdy enough, just the right height to hold Karofsky's offering without tipping over.

As Kurt undoes the lid, it occurs to him that it is probably the first time he's opened the canister since Blaine moved out. Without a second thought, he dumps the stale contents into the garbage disposal. It takes just a moment for Kurt to run a little bit of water and 'arrange' the birds of paradise. Though not much can really be done in the way of arranging. They're nearly as awkward in the makeshift vase as they were in his hands.

He'll probably need to get a ribbon to tie around the bottoms to hold them together, but for now each one sort of leans against a different side of the canister. Kurt can't help but smile at the work in his hands. They do have a certain charm. It strikes him that he can work their color palette into the fall collection. The purples and orange of the blooms, when they bloom will make a nice contrast to the lime variations. And the pomegranate he's been considering adding.

He's stalling. Karofsky brought him 'flowers' and he's stalling. Karofsky is in his living room, doing gaga knows what. The reality of the presence forcing Kurt to do what he should not be doing. He thinks of the banded short sleeves of the white Gap T Karofsky's wearing. It accentuates his biceps, making Kurt flash on what it felt like to be surrounded by those arms and the passion of the body attached.

Tamping down his errant thoughts, Kurt steps into the dining area. Pushing aside the sketches strewn on the table, he sets the bird of paradise in the center of the table. He fusses with the placement, stalling just that bit more to avoid looking at the man in his living room.

"You're still with this guy?" Kurt can't identify the tone. Looking up, he finds Karofsky's gaze fixed on a framed picture of him and Blaine taken at the boutique opening.

"We lived together." Karofsky looks at Kurt with a bleakness that's more than Kurt can deal with at the moment.

"He has his own bungalow in Los Feliz." The truth, but a deliberate omission as well. A little of the bleakness leeches away, but doesn't fully dissipate. Unable to continue looking at Karofsky's eyes, of it's own volition, Kurt's gaze flicks to Karofsky's arms. Oh, skitters through Kurt's mind, **I have a kink**. His body sways slightly towards the other man.

"Kurt -." Desire.

Kurt's eyes snap up to meet the other man's. Everything Kurt scrubbed away the day before comes back with a vengeance. _**No. Not again, not now**_.

“I need to talk to a farmer about pomegranates.” Kurt grabs his keys, his satchel and sails to his front door. He's got to get Karofsky out of his apartment. It's become more than apparent that it's a bad idea for the two of them to be alone. It takes a couple seconds, Karofsky doesn't follow right on his heels. After a few seconds of Kurt jingling his keys from the doorway, Karofsky does put the picture down and follow Kurt out into the hallway. The immediate problem solved. At least two of his neighbors walk their dogs in the morning and it's a good chance one of them might pass by any second. It's safe. He won't touch Karofsky and Karfosky won't touch him. Not in public. Karofsky says nothing, just hovers as Kurt puts his keys back in his bag.

ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ

The weekly neighborhood farmer's market is only a couple of blocks away from his apartment. Kurt has been thinking of sourcing materials from local growers for use in his store displays. In recent weeks he's gotten a little fixated on using the red orange hue of pomegranates as the counterpoint to the greens. He may need to buy them by the crate fully to foster his vision.

He's not sure what he expected to happen, maybe for Karfosky to leave. That isn't what happens. Instead, when Kurt makes the left turn outside his complex's front door in the direction of the market, Karofsky makes the turn with him. Kurt hopes for the possibility that Karofsky has just parked his car on the same street, and that he still might leave, He remains no more than a foot behind, on the side of Kurt closest to the street. A memory pops into Kurt's head. His parents' after dinner walks, his father always taking the side closest to the street. The memory nearly makes Kurt stop in his tracks.

The market is standard issue Saturday crowded, families, hipsters, hipster families, average joes. Usually at least one person in the mish mash is wearing one of Kurt's scarves. Those sightings give him a warm glow. Today twenty people could walk by in one of them right now and it would barely register.

His unexpected morning visitor is still with him. Kurt walks as briskly as he can get away with without knocking anyone down. Not that it matters. Karofsky is more than able to match Kurt's stride. In spite of his bulk, he glides easily around the market goers. More agile than Kurt had ever given him credit for. Karofsky could probably overtake Kurt, but he doesn't seem to be interested in that.

The hope that the other man would peel off and perhaps go to a parked car on the street before they got to the market withers. When Kurt pauses at a booth that sells artisan breads so does Karofsky. Kurt isn't going to be able to shake him so there's no point at the moment expending any energy on it. He's neglected his professional responsibilities enough. He knows that he could simply ask Karofsky to go, but he won't. It would be bad form. He's already accepted the man's bird of paradise.

ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ

At the Sky Farms booth, he finds pomegranates that are just the right shade of reddish orange. Maybe Karofsky will get bored with the minutiae of Kurt's discussion with the grower of the logistics of the amount of pomegranates he guestimates he'll need and wander away. As Kurt and the grower talk rates, crates, seasons and delivery windows, Karofsky's hand slides down Kurt's arm, slips into his hand so that their fingers entwine. Kurt feels proud of the lack of falter in his voice as he negotiates a bulk discount. The deal sealed with a handshake, the grower moves away to help another customer.

“I need to pick up some trail mix,” Karofsky says matter of factly. He tugs just enough to indicate he wants Kurt to come with him, that he has no intention of letting go of Kurt's hand.

“Um, okay.” Which is the wrong response from a professionally responsible businessman. But that version of Kurt seems to have only put in an appearance long enough for to close a deal on fruit. The version that had sex with Karofsky can't help himself. Can't help the tingle and rush of heat that runs through him at the contact, at the hint of possession.

As the five pounds of trail mix gets scooped and measured, Karofsky smiles at Kurt like this is something they've done every Saturday for years. It's a smile that make's Kurt's stomach flip. Without thinking, he strokes his thumb along the side of Kafosky's hand in response.

ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ

At the coffee shop on the edge of the farmer's market, the server has barely placed Kurt's iced chocolatisimo and Karofsky's lemonade on the table before Kurt blurts, ”You have a boyfriend.” It startles him. What he should have said was “I " have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend and spontaneous sex, birds of paradise and handholding are not on the table. But it's too late to backtrack.

A series of emotions flick across Karofsky's face before it settles into a kind of blankness. His gaze drops to the cafe's wood grain table. Despite the fact that virtually all of the tables are occupied, the room a noisy din of people taking a break from walking the market, when Karofsky speaks, his voice is a soft intimate rumble for Kurt's ears alone. Kurt leans in just a little.

”When I first got here, I went to this bar on Santa Monica, found it online. I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to get it over with you know. I just wanted, I needed...But when I got inside, it was overwhelming, loud. All those guys. I know guys can be...," he makes a squeezing gesture in the air, "but it's different being on the receiving end. A lot different from Lima. Kind of freaked me out."

Kurt nods his head quietly in recognition. He'd known things would be different in Los Angeles. Expected it. But when he and Blaine had gotten to town, the actual feel of being in the city was completely apart from anything he'd imagined. He encountered his own share of men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. It had been kind of a revelation. He could absolutely see how that would freak someone like Karofsky out.

”So I pretty much just sat at the bar for most of the night. Jamie came on shift about an hour after I got there. He...at first, I thought...," Karofsky looks at Kurt helplessly, before shifting his eyes back to the tabletop.

“He talked to me in between pouring for other people. I could barely talk to him, but I waited for him after last call. I don't think I could have walked away. We made it as far as my truck. ” Karofsky's cheeks flame red. “Then he took me home.”

Karofsky shrugs as if to indicate the rest is history. Kurt supposes it is. He's seen it in his store, at Karofsky's apartment. “I don't have a type. It's...Jamie is a great guy. He really, I don't know what would have happened to me without him. When I came out here, I thought...it's the opposite end of the country. I thought I could have a life out here. Figure some things out. Start fresh. Forget McKinley. You weren't supposed to be here.”

Kurt understands that completely. Karofsky isn't supposed to be here either. Or anywhere really other than Lima. Kurt had thought Karofsky was likely to live a closeted life in Lima, with sad furtive hook-ups and dying alone without anyone ever really knowing him. Instead, he's living openly with a guy who looks like Kurt and initiating public handholding. He's is in Kurt's life again making more indelible marks on his skin.

”Karofsky."

Karofsky looks right at him. Not at the people buying things at the booths outside the window, not at random customers at the counter. Not at the tabletop. At him.

"Can you...? It's David. Out here people call me David." He has a different life out here, like Kurt, with people who don't know anything about slushies, letter jacketed menace or prom kings. People who look at them sitting across the table and don't see anything amiss. Kurt wonders if any of the other customers can tell what they've done together, just how close they've been in the last couple of days. His cheeks heat with the flush of memory. Butterflies do a little dance in his stomach.

"David." That's as far as Kurt gets. It's not that he doesn't know what to say. It's that there might be too much. It's _**David**_ who walked into his clothing store two days ago. It's _**David**_ who made him come, who brought him day after “flowers” and has no qualms holding his hand in public. The butterflies flare into a heat much lower, as David's green eyes never leave his face.

”I don't have a type Kurt." Somehow it escaped Kurt's attention that the other man is trailing his index finger against the back of the hand Kurt's got wrapped around his drink. He would never have expected Karof – David to be this kind of aggressive. But he guesses that's the point. Jamie's done good work. David is the man to Karofsky's boy. There's very little defense against it.

"I know.”

Kurt's hand slides from around his drink away from the touch. "I need to make a call.." He's going to be late. Again.

”What's his name," is Marcus' greeting.

“I'm so sorry. I'll be there in about an hour.” Marcus laughs and hangs up on him.

 

They don't linger at the table. On the walk back to Kurt's apartment, instead of walking one behind the other they walk side by side. There's no talking, no hand holding this time. But David walks on the side closest to the street.

 

Just before they reach the entrance to Kurt's complex, David stops him with a light pull on his sleeve. There's no point in offering even token resistance. They're much beyond that now.

“Fancy.” The voice dropped down to a purr. A part of Kurt thinks he should maybe ask David not to call him that. But the tone that wraps around the word when David says it, it only makes Kurt want to say **yes**.

Perhaps Fancy is the kind of guy who would get David off in the apartment the other man shares with his boyfriend, that would kiss David in the middle of a Los Angeles sidewalk with abandon. Kurt splays his finger around David's bicep. Already there's a place on the other man's body he likes to hold. Kurt's fingers tighten under the band of David's t-shirt. Knuckles press gently against his cheek in response. And for all the strength in the large, firm hand against his back, the mouth that descends on Kurt's is a gentle, easy fit.

Kurt had taken to heart the sex talk his dad gave him when he was in high school. As a result, he'd never felt weird that Blaine was the only guy he'd been with. The teasing sometimes from Finn, and Marcus, especially about his lack of conquests rolls right off his back. He's done his share of flirting, but that's the line in the sand.

He doesn't know what this is with David exactly. He doesn't know what it means. They have a shared history that backdrops what's happening now. As he gives himself up to the passion of the kiss, to his own desire for the sensual slide of David's tongue against his own, he does know that it's not just about sex. When they both need to breathe, David rests his forehead against Kurt's.

“I guess you need to go to work.”

Kurt let's go of the pieces of t-shirt material clutched in his hand. “This really is no way to run a business. My dad would be appalled.” David laughs, deep and rich. Kurt likes it. 

“It's really cool that you have your own business.”

David's lips brush across Kurt's temple as he drags his hand slowly away from the bare skin of Kurt's back. The words of praise make Kurt shiver. No, not just about sex at all. When David walks away from him, he walks backwards, grin plastered across his face, until Kurt can no longer see him. He can feel a ridiculously stupid grin spreading across his own face.

Kurt makes one more call before he heads for the boutique.

“Hi Blaine, it's me. Can you meet me tomorrow morning at Hop, around 10." He disconnects, then texts the message for good measure.


	4. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Blaine come to an agreement. David makes a decision.

Sunday

“I don't think we should do this anymore.”

The words come out, not exactly easy, but declarative. There is a certainty that Kurt wasn't sure he could convey when he was jelling his hair an hour ago. He and Blaine have been on the same page for a good deal of their relationship. He loves Blaine, nothing in the last few days could change that, but …

It was the but that kept him tossing and turning the night before. There will be questions when everyone finds out about Blaine. His dad and Carol, Finn and Rachel, Mercedes. He'd spent the night thinking about what would come after the but. Watching Blaine stare out of Hop's picture window at the Hollywood sign, he still doesn't know. When they first arrived in Los Angeles, they'd arrived in better shape than a lot of other people their age. They hadn't come as runaways or castaways. They were together, in love.

They arrived with the blessings of family and friends and cash. In spite of those advantages, he and Blaine had agreed that it was important to make it on their own. They'd used the money given as graduation presents to make a deposit on an apartment and pay a couple months rent in advance. Once moved in and appropriately furnished, they put the rest of the money away for a rainy day, put themselves on a budget. Kurt started classes at FIDM. Blaine landed a job as a Universal Studios Tour Guide.

The Hop chocolate milkshakes, which their landlord raved about, were their end of the work/school week indulgence. They treated themselves as they stared out of the window at the Hollywood sign, made plans and shared the week that was. Kurt doubts he'll be back after today. It's already been several months since the two of them have been on a date of any kind.

Blaine runs his index finger around the rim of his glass catching some of the shake's froth on his finger. His tongue swipes over his finger licking it off.

“You're right,” Blaine agrees. His smile is wistful. Still on the same page.

Blaine reaches across the table to take Kurt's hand between his. His smile flashes nearly as bright as it did that first time at Dalton. Only the people who know Blaine as well as Kurt does would be able to catch the small shadow that dims its edges.

“I always thought when people grew apart it was because they hated each other.” There it is, Kurt thinks, Blaine has nailed what comes after the but. They love each other, but they have grown apart. 

The pursuit of ambitions and goals that once overlapped now make separating demands on them. The goals have become accomplishments pulling them in opposite directions. Kurt had always assumed they would be able to share their dreams in Los Angeles the way they had in high school. Blaine's in a show on Theatre Row, understudying another one at the Taper. He regularly gets callbacks for network auditions. Booking a regular network gig is just a matter of time. Their schedules are almost literally night and day.

Kurt presses his leg against Blaine's, settles his free hand on top of his.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Blaine responds right away.

In the parking lot they press their mouths together to share a last lover's kiss. They hold each other tightly until a passerby shouts from the sidewalk, “Get a room!” Laughing, they pull apart, their foreheads pressed together.

“So.”

“So.”

“I'm going to have a fabulous party when the remodel is done. The works. I want you to come.”

“I might get a play at the Geffen. If I get it I'd like you to be my guest opening night.”

They love each other, but.

Kurt watches Blaine until his car pulls out of Hop's parking lot. As he slides into his own car, he feels more focused than he has all weekend. Maybe all year. Arriving at the store well before opening, with a quick wave to Marcus, he heads into his office to work on the rest of the sketches for his meeting with the contractor. When the time he spent with David insinuates itself into his thoughts at varying intervals during the day, he lets himself think about it. He lets himself think about how much he enjoyed the other man's attention, his touch, his taste. He won't let himself shy away from the truth of his sexual attraction to David Karofsky. It's there and real.

The reverent focus turned him on. He won't stop himself from imagining what it would be like to press against him skin to skin, to be pressed down, covered under the weight of him. To sit astride him and kiss like they did in front of his building, uninterrupted. There are less naughty musings, like trading the hand in hand of the farmer's market to his hand engulfed in David's as they walk down the Santa Monica beach at sunset; David with one of Kurt's scarves, a shade complementary to his eyes, wrapped around his neck; the two of them in Whole Foods arguing about carbs. That one makes Kurt giggle out loud. It bounces off the walls of his office. The non-naughty ones are the most important. The most instructive. 

David was the catalyst that brought him and Blaine together. He doesn't want to make a comparison between the two men who've impacted his romantic history, but David's presence has heralded both Blaine's entrance and exit. It skitters through his mind that maybe they'd all got the whole thing backwards. He'd thought that Blaine would be his happily ever after. But maybe his fairytale is a little more fractured and his Prince is a broken boy that needed time to get himself together.

Monday

Kurt isn't shocked to see David standing in the middle of his store. The small flip of his stomach says it's not an unpleasant surprise. Whatever is happening between them, the random pop up has become part of it. Peeping from behind David, Marcus mouths the words, **“Who's the bear?”** Fighting off a combination blush and grin, Kurt waves David to follow him back to his office.

“So I'm guessing you **don't** want to be disturbed,” Marcus smirks behind them.

 

@@@@@@

"What are these for?” The portfolio with the remodel drawings is open on the desk. David thumbs through them. “I'm adding a performance space to the store. A stage. Room for seating. Ideally, I'll be able to have the show for my new line here . If I can get it done in time. I'm meeting with the contractor this afternoon.”

“Can I?” Kurt nods without knowing what he's giving the other man permission to do. Gingerly, David slides one of the drawings out from between the protective sheath. Grabbing a pencil from the desk, he turns the drawing over. Scribbles something lightly on the back.

“I think these materials might work a little better, than the ones you listed, for what you're trying to do.”

“Oh, how um...”

“I work in set construction at Paramount.”

“You're a regular John Gidding.”

A smile flashes across David's face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He sways just a little on his feet. 

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” Green eyes skitter over Kurt's face.

“Uh, maybe for just a minute.” 

He lowers himself to the office couch. As he does his eyes dart from the fabric on the couch, to the portfolio on the desk, to the hands now clasped tight in his lap. Like in the coffee shop, at everything but the man in the space with him.

Not entirely sure which way to go, Kurt simply clears his throat. It's enough. Green eyes lift to meet his gaze. There's a deep misery there.

“I have to...Jamie is coming back today. He's flying into Burbank. I was on my way to pick him up. Two weeks ago I put in to take the whole day off because I figured when he'd got back we'd probably spend the rest of the day...you know. This is actually the longest we've been apart. I can't...He's a good guy Kurt. I can't.”

It hangs in the air between them. They had both behaved like single men over the weekend. That's Kurt's truth now, but it doesn't mitigate the fact that neither of them were.

“Fancy,” whispers softly, brokenly into the space between them.

Just like that everything outside the office door falls away. What ever happens next, it is just the two of them. It feels natural to close the distance, to touch. Kurt pushes his fingers into soft dark curls. His own cruel words shouted in the locker room years before echo back to him as he does so. No getting around those genetics, but it's grown out since McKinley. And he revels in the thick strands curling over his fingers. He sinks them deeper. His other hand, rubs a soothing stroke across the broad shoulder radiating tension against his palm. As he strokes some of the tension leeches away. David slumps, his forehead tips against Kurt's stomach. The small flip from a few minutes ago becomes a hard flutter.

“You smell good. You always smell so good. I could probably get off just smelling you. I need -,” David groans as he pushes up the hem of Kurt's forest green lycra. Calloused thumbs stroke across the soft pale skin there. An open mouth kiss to that same skin nearly buckles Kurt's knees.

“Uh, I had no idea peach mango body wash could be an aphrodisiac.” 

 

The last four days have made it more than clear that he's kind of powerless under David's hands. It's a willful powerlessness. He's made the decision each time like he's making it now by letting his fingers stay in David's hair. He won't step back to put any distance between them. Not with the sensual tonguing of his navel alternating with butterfly kisses peppering his stomach. One large hand anchors at his waist, as the other strong and solid drops to knead his ass. It pulls him that much closer, until he's clutching the head beneath his fingers tight to keep from losing his balance.

The fingers at his waist burn a trail along his skin to the top button of his jeans. His arousal pushes against the button fly which proves no match for David. Thick fingers slip the buttons nimbly undone. And suddenly there's a draft at Kurt's back, moist warmth at his crotch. David moans low again in his throat. Clutching Kurt firmly with both hands, he works the object of his desire with his tongue.

Kurt made out in the office with the Blaine after the store's grand opening, but they'd taken the naked part of the celebration home. He has no doubt Marcus has had someone, probably multiple someones in the office at least once. But this, there's an indecency to it. A blatant inappropriateness.

There is also intense passion. As the fingers press more tightly into Kurt's flesh, drawing him deeper into David's mouth, he feels the fire of pure want. David's and his own. He wants this. Wants David like this. Unexpected. Raw. Arching his back like a bow, Kurt gives himself up to that truth, to the pleasure. As the grip on him loosens a little, a thumb slips into his cleft, circles, rubs.  
Kurt groans helplessly, “David, David, David,” as his body shudders and shakes. His release floods the mouth around him. David takes it all, swallows it all.

Kurt falls into a boneless, sated straddle across his lap. “Fancy,” David moans desperately as his hand slides from Kurt's body into his own lap. The two of them work together clumsily to get David's zipper undone, his jeans down just enough. “Please,” David moans again as he slides his hand into his boxer briefs. Kurt's fingers curl around David's wrist, holds on tight as he jerks himself. Already nearly gone, it doesn't take much. A couple frantic jerks then David's spilling over both their hands. As the larger body beneath his shivers, Kurt dips his head down to kiss the other man.

The remnants of his own essence in David's mouth surprises him. He's tasted himself before, but on David's tongue it's different. New. Intoxicating. Chasing it down is a sloppy, desperate dance of their tongues before their mouths slide apart. David trails wet, messy kisses across Kurt's cheek, down his neck. He murmurs against the flushed skin like last time. Like last time Kurt has no idea what the specific words are, but he thinks he knows their meaning. A gasp escapes him as blunt teeth gently worry his flesh. He clenches his hand in David's hair as he lets the other man mark him.

 

@@@@@@

 

"Are you okay?”

Genuine concern sketches across Marcus' face.

“I'm okay,” Kurt answers, “just some things on my mind.”

“One of those things six feet and built like a linebacker?”

Kurt fingers the magenta scarf strategically wrapped around his neck. “Goodnight Marcus. I'll see you in the morning.” Once the office door clicks closed behind Marcus, Kurt unwraps the scarf. 

The afternoon meeting with the new contractor took longer than he expected, but was fruitful. They have a good rapport. He hopes that bodes well for avoiding the renovation turning into either a horror story or a money pit. David's suggested materials were well received. 

In the quiet, Kurt finally has a chance to sort out his thoughts. This aftermath has such a different texture than the first time when the other man was still Karofsky, still the part of his past that shadowed his present. Instead of the guilt and overwhelm of last time, it's sadness he feels. Sadness that what's happened between them hadn't happened before Blaine and Jamie were dragged so deeply into it. Having had a front row seat for so many glee club cross pollinations and the resulting painful drama, Kurt would never have expected post McKinley to find himself hooking up with someone else's boyfriend. Never have expected himself to have been a boyfriend fooling around on his significant other. Even though he didn't tell Blaine. He will. 

After he and David recovered enough to untangle themselves from each other on the couch, he'd pointed the other man to his bathroom. Once the shower started he night have used one of the scarves lying around his office to clean himself as best he could while he waited his turn. For moment he was tempted to wrap the scarf with their combined scents around his neck. Perhaps the only thing that stopped him was the pending meeting. Instead, he buried the scarf in the drawer and lit one of the aromatic candles he kept in the credenza to dissipate the smell of sex. The steady rhythm of the shower lulled him into a light doze.

The scent of peach mango bodywash had roused him. Opening his eyes, he found a fully clothed, damp haired David standing in front of him. The misery of a half an hour ago wasn't as prevalent, but neither was any overt happiness. The other man leaned into his space before he could speak.

“Now I can take you with me.” A quick kiss to his cheek and David was gone. 

Kurt has no idea what happens next, what David will do. Kurt Hummel, single man hasn't been a reality for very long. The recent incarnation should probably have the opportunity to see more than the light of one day. A very good chance exists that he won't see David Karofsky again. The memory of what happened between them in the lockeroom that day no longer casts a shadow. It's been replaced. Opening his top desk drawer, he retrieves the scarf that will never see the retail light of day. He strokes the discolored skin at his neck before wrapping himself in and inhaling deeply of the debauched Hummel original.

 

**Epilogue**

The phone rings at 3 a.m. Kurt has worked through letting calls this early throw him into a panic about his dad having had another heart attack. For some reason, despite the time difference chart Kurt knows Rachel has posted on their refrigerator, Finn has yet to master the concept of the pacific time zone. More than once his phone has rung at three a.m. only to be met with a profuse apology from his step-brother. The first few times he had answered the phone with a tense, “is dad okay?” Not anymore.

“How's Rachel?” Kurt murmurs groggily into his cell.

“It's me.” The last vestiges of sleep immediately fall away as Kurt pushes up his eyeshade.

“You sound...what's wrong?”

“I'm downstairs, out front.” A two day old, freak rain storm makes 'out front' not anywhere Kurt wants to go at three in the morning. But the emotion in the voice on the other end makes it impossible for him to do otherwise. He slides out of the deep snuggle between the Egyptian cotton and flannel. Minutes later swathed in two of his originals and lemon yellow HV rainboots, a birthday gift from Mercedes, he's in the lobby peering out of the rain streaked double doors of his building. An F150 idles in front of his building in the loading zone. Fortunately the rain has tapered to light spitting. Kurt makes dash for it. The passenger door isn't locked. Yanking it open, he slides inside the warmth of the cab.

“I have such bed hair.” From the driver's seat, David just looks at him for a few minutes without saying anything. They haven't seen or spoken to each other in four weeks.

“You're beautiful, even when I was hurting you I thought that. I'm so sorry.” he says softly. Kurt's skin prickles.

The husked out words having the same affect as David's touch. There are no other sounds in the truck, but their breathing. Which syncs one with the other. Outside the truck, the spitting turns turns into a light pattering. David speaks quietly on an exhale.

“ I didn't mean to hurt him.” Kurt tenses, his eyes sharpen on David's face. He peers closely, trying to catch the quality of his expression. What he can see, chills him. It's the bleakness from his kitchen, from the locker room that day at school. Tears also glisten on his cheeks.

“David?” Kurt reaches across the cab to take one of the hands David has wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. It comes away easily entwines with Kurt's. It's shaking. 

“I don't mean to hurt people, but I keep screwing this up. I couldn't...I moved out here so I wouldn't have to lie anymore. But when I tell the truth...” The words get lost in a sob. David presses his forehead against the steering wheel.

Without hesitation, Kurt reaches out to stroke a hand through David's rain soaked hair. The distraught man presses into the touch. Just like it did in the office, his need pulls Kurt closer.

“Whatever's happened you can tell me. You came here to tell me right? I'll help you.” 

David's forehead presses harder against the steering wheel.

“Is Jamie, is he okay? Has something happened to him? Did you -,” Kurt's not quite sure how to ask the rest. It would have been automatic in the McKinley days. He would have assumed the worst, but he can't do that now. He's compromised. He can't find the right words to ask. 

“David, where is Jamie?”

Pushing away from the steering wheel, David huddles his bulk into the driver's side door.

“I thought he might be okay with it you know. I guess that was stupid, but...That first night, with him, before we did anything, I told him. I told him about you. Not all the things I did, but how I felt. And he asked me why my pants were still zipped.” He laughs, but there's no mirth in it. 

“Then after we just sort of fell into this thing. And it was good until you came to the apartment that day. I've been in love with you since I was sixteen.”

The words land like a gentle blow.

“After...after that weekend, your office, I couldn't lie. I couldn't go back. When we got home from the airport, he wanted...and I couldn't. I told him. And he, he just kind of fell apart. Threw me out. I've been couch surfing with some guys from work for the last month. My back will probably never be the same.” The second laugh that escapes him is a jagged thing.

“What are you doing?”

“Slide over.”

“What?”

“Slide over. I'm going to park your truck in the building's guest parking. Then we're going upstairs.”

@@@@@@

 

An echo of the last time they were together, Kurt points his unexpected guest toward his apartment bathroom. “Fluffy towels on the rack. I'll make some hot chocolate.” By the time the milk's come to a boil on the stove, there hasn't been a peep from the bathroom. Turning the heat off, Kurt abandons the pot to check on his guest.

“David?” Clutching a teal bathtowel in his hands, his hair glistening with rainwater, David's eyes fix on the bathroom floor tile. It's on the tip of Kurt's tongue to ask reflexively if he's alright, but they've had that conversation.

“Sit down.” Stepping into the bathroom, Kurt gently pries the towel away. Blinking back from wherever he was, David flashes a tired, watery smile at his host. “Sit down.” This time it registers. He does so as if those were the very instructions he'd been waiting on.

Tracking the flickering expression on David's face, as he smooths the towel through his hair, it dawns on Kurt that hot chocolate might actually be too ambitious. “Come on.”

At the doorway to Kurt's bedroom, David tries to backtrack, but his hand is held firmly in a smaller one. “Clearly we need to have a longer conversation, but you're in no condition to do that right now. The bed's still warm. And the sheets are decadently soft. Let's just...your back could probably use a break.”

Tugged in the direction of the bed, the bigger man stumbles unresistantly behind him. Kurt climbs in first, fluffs the pillows up behind his back before beckoning David to join him. There is just the seconds hesitation before he strips down to his undershirt and boxer briefs. 

“Is this okay?”

Kurt extends his hand, “Yes, David it's fine.”

A little more arranging of limbs then David's head nestles just beneath Kurt's chin, his arm encircles Kurt's waist. Nimble fingers card through dark curls.

“I'm sorry,” whispers against Kurt's skin. “I'm sorry about in the truck. I shouldn't have said that.”

“It's not such a bad thing to hear from the guy you had hot sex with, but haven't heard from in a few weeks.” Kurt says quietly. “Don't apologize for being honest.”

“Thanks, thanks for letting me crash here. I am kinda wiped out.”

Kurt sifts through his repetoire for something for this circumstance. David Karofsky seeking comfort, in his bed, at his invitation. Nothing springs to mind. Maybe something old, or obscure that the man in his arms has no association with, but would find soothing. After a quick mental inventory, he discards Patti and Barbara in favor of a lullaby his mother sang to him when he was kid. He'd like to transfer the peace he remembers from when his mom sang it to him to the man in his arms.

“I use to dream about you singing to me,” comes a sleepy response at the end of the first verse. Kurt presses a kiss to David's forehead. Later as his own eyes flutter closed, the alliterative appeal of Kurt Karofsky follows him into sleep.

 

Fin


End file.
